Before the War
by dancerchick4
Summary: What if I there's a part of me who doesn't agree with it— what if there's a part of me who isn't entirely against the idea of letting Nephilim live? Does that make me disloyal to my kind? Does it make me a traitor? I don't know, but I'm willing to find out…
1. Chapter 1

**_RAFFE_**

**_London- 1906_**

They say it's impossible to be perfect. I disagree. Sarah is pretty close. I watch her as she manoeuvres around the hall, her auburn hair cascading down her shoulders in luxurious waves, green eyes wide and sparkling. "What do you think of this one?" She giggles, pointing to another painting hanging on the wall of the gallery. I sigh and fling an arm around her shoulder, pressing my lips to her ear. "I think it looks the same as all the others we've seen." I admit, and Sarah smiles her award-winning grin, shaking her head.

"You have no appreciation for art, do you?" She tuts, and I resist the urge to smirk. Of course I have appreciation for art. Her angelic face is a work of art in itself. I open my mouth to tell her that when she laughs and rushes over to the next painting. This one named 'Garçon a la pipe' is by a man named Picasso, whoever that is. Angels have little patience for human art— aside from Sarah of course— and to be quite frank I would much rather pluck my feathers from my wings than look at any more paintings. But Sarah likes it, so I do too.

Kind of.

"Sarah! Oh heavens it's been centuries!" The voice that rings across the room immediately makes me want to roll my eyes. I could recognise that voice anywhere. "And... could it be? Raphael? Why! What an honour!"

"Michael!" Sarah calls out and rushes over to greet her friend. I turn around and nod at the fair-haired Angel with just a slight tip of the chin.

"Hello, Michael." I cross my arms and try to force out a smile, though I think it comes as more of a snarl. "Nice to see you too." I say through gritted teeth.

"Oh, how I've missed you!" Sarah leans over and hugs Michael with her long arms, planting a dainty kiss on his cheek that makes him blush. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Just give up the act already, please. I busy myself staring at 'Garçon a la pipe' and pretending not to listen to Michael and Sarah's conversation.

"Yes, well, you know me, always have something to do or somewhere to be! Lots of people with fears to be dealt with." I picture him shrugging at this point and possibly rubbing his arm like the nervous infant he claims to be.

Sarah laughs. Ugh. What can she possibly see in him? "Of course, I can imagine how busy you must be. People are always afraid of something." She sighs and takes a step closer towards Michael, smiling.

"We shall not let it be this long next time- another ten years and I would have thought you'd forgotten about me!"

I peer around and see Michael nodding, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Don't be ridiculous Sarah, how could I possibly forget a beauty such as yours-"

"Well it was wonderful to see you." I cut in then, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I stalk over and pull Sarah to my hip. Michael turns white with embarrassment as if he'd forgotten I was here, and nods slowly. He turns to Sarah and glances at the floor quickly.

"Would I be able to spend a few moments alone with Raphael, Sarah? I'd just like to catch up on a few things." He asks and Sarah smiles, looking ecstatic.

"Of course you may! I'll be right over there if you need me." She bounces away to look at a huge chandelier, no doubt feeling happy with herself. She knows how much I dislike Michael and she probably thinks that this will be a chance for us to bond.

"Sorry to bother you sir but I've been sent upon request to inform you of your next mission." Michael says in a hushed voice. I stare at him uncomprehendingly. My next mission?

"What are you talking about? Where is Gabriel?" I insist, and I have to remind myself to keep my sound down. My missions are highly secretive- if word got out about the identity of the Nephilim it would be a war between the races.

"I... I don't know, Raphael. All I know is that there is a girl in Roma who the humans are saying is possessed. She's healing much faster than normal and her blood is cold- she has all the signs of a Nephilim child. You need to go, now, before the other Archangels find out. I'll take care of Sarah- you go." Michael urges me on with a serious voice, and I look between Sarah and Michael, suddenly unsure. Finally I nod and break into a run, promising myself silently that I'll come back for Sarah and explain as much as I can. I push through the huge doors and peel off my jacket, letting my wings unfold behind me. I fly silently for hours, knowing exactly where to go though not knowing how I know. The wind whips through my hair and lashes my face so hard it would hurt if my skin weren't thicker than the average human's. As I approach the grassy ground some time later, nighttime is just falling, casting an eerie shade of blue over the Earth. I can feel the girl's pull and I know she's close by. It's like someone has tied string around the both of us, and whenever she moves I can feel the string pulling. I follow the string through a thick, grassy field until I'm led to a tiny cottage. The cottage is farther away from the main village than all of the others, the first sign that the resident is a Nephilim- when people know there's something wrong with them, they always distance themselves from everyone else. The pull inside me becomes stronger, aching through my muscles and bones as if they will shatter at any given moment, making me almost crazed. I push open the wooden door of the cottage and glance around, my heart racing in my chest. The pull is not a pull anymore, it's a stab of pain, a notice that the Nephilim is within killing range.

My eyes lock onto a small person in the corner, and she glances up from where she had been huddled by the fireplace, her blue eyes wide and petrified. My breathing pauses and suddenly I forget all about the pain searing in my heart as I stare at her. Her long golden hair falls in tendrils down her front, and she looks so delicate and small I can't bring myself to even appear intimidating. I take step forward and she scrambles backwards, nearly touching the flames.

"Wh-what do you want?" She stutters, her voice as light and silky as a feather.

I ignore her and take another slow step forward, trying not to wince as she pales. "What d-do you w-want?" She repeats in a stressed, high-pitched tone. I crouch down before her, my eyes not leaving hers.

"What's your name?" I ask softly, and she blinks, confused for a moment.

"Wh-what?" She asks, shivering with the cold, or maybe fear.

I smile softly, adjusting my grip on the knife in my hand, trying to hide it from her view.

"I said, what's your name?"

A tear streams down the girl's cheek and she pulls her knees up to her chest, huddling. She opens her mouth and then closes it, and repeats this a few times before, finally, she sigh a shaky, broken sound.

When she speaks, her voice is croaky and so low I have to strain to hear.

"Laylah. My name is Laylah."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Roma 1906**_

I watch as she hovers by the roaring fire, the boiling water in the kettle steaming, turning her pale cheeks pink with heat. "So how long have you been wandering?" She asks me in her thick but beautiful Italian voice, staring into the kettle and pushing her damp hair back from her face. It's a good thing angels are naturally multilingual, otherwise I'd be at a total loss. I lean back against the wooden chair, crossing my feet over one another on the hard stone floor.

"A few days." I shrug.

"You've been walking around here lost for _days?_ And you have no idea where your folks are?" She asks with the concern childhood friends might hold for each other.

I smile in admiration, shake my head and stare into her eyes, so blue I almost feel as if I'm looking across at the ocean.

"No. Like I said, we were travelling from Monterotondo, I went to collect fresh water and when I returned to where I left them, they were gone." I lie easily, trying not to be amused by the expression on Laylah's face. She looks so young, maybe only seventeen or eighteen, and my chest tightens as I realize why I'm here. She has her whole life ahead of her, yet I have to take it away. And just like that the Hunter inside me flares up, making my heart convulse with pain. The urge to murder her races through me, and I cling onto the chair so tightly I have to stop myself from snapping it in half.

"Are you okay?" She asks me curiously, and I try to force myself to smile.

"Of course. I just get upset when I think of my parents." I say through my teeth, the words sounding strained. I glance around at the small cottage hoping to distract myself, and when my eyes fall upon a small square of brown-white parchment crumpled on the floor, my erratic feelings subside.

"You did this?" I ask Laylah, jumping up out of my chair to admire the drawing. It's done in charcoal, and the image of Laylah and two others is ridiculously life-like, so much so that even I, hater of all art, cannot help but stare. When I glance up Laylah is blushing violently, rose color against her creamy pale skin, fiddling with her fingers in her lap.

"I know it's not great just yet but I've been trying to improve-"

"It's beautiful." I cut her off, and when our eyes meet she looks away immediately. I clear my throat and lower the drawing. "So where are your parents?" I ask casually. A silence falls over to the two of us, so heavy I feel I could almost cut through it with my knife.

"Murdered."

The word hangs in the silence, but her beautiful blue eyes show no sign of weakness. They appear almost cold, disconnected, oddly uncaring.

"No brothers or sisters?" I ask her.

She shakes her head. "No."

"Boyfriend? Friend? Cousin? Uncle?"

"No."

My breath catches in my throat. _Just do it_, my knife seems to whisper to me, _kill her. She has nothing left to live for. No one loves her, no one cares. No one will miss her. Do it…_

I slide my knife out from under my sleeve as she turns back to tend to the kettle. Five seconds, that's all it would take. Five seconds and I've fulfilled my job. Five seconds and… I lift up my knife to shoulder height, bloodlust coursing through me like lightning. Five seconds. Five-

She turns around to look at me, and once again I get a glimpse into those gorgeous, now frightened blue eyes. She looks like a deer caught in the village mob- so fragile. Her scream fills the cottage as she takes in the scene before her, and my heart bleeds for her. Why can't I do it? Why can't I kill this girl? She's no different to all the others- a Nephilim, an abomination.

Evil.

But there is nothing at all evil about Laylah. Nothing that makes me believe she is truly a Nephilim. Though I cannot let her live either, or the others will find her and kill her anyway, far more brutally and painfully than I will. I close my eyes and try to ask myself what Sarah, sweet sweet Sarah would do. My teeth grip together. I know exactly what she would do.

She would let Laylah live.

But I am not Sarah. I am Raphael, hunter of Nephilim, and I have to do my job regardless of my morals.

So without a sound I slam the knife down.

It only takes five seconds.


End file.
